


Battle Wounds

by AlexC



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Communication, F/M, Nonverbal Communication, Sex as Communication, Smut, Smut Intro, starts with smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexC/pseuds/AlexC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love isn't always meant to be. And as an assassin, it's always going to be that much harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Wounds

The sound of skin on skin fills the air, as the smell of musk and the metallic taste of blood overcomes the senses. There is such a need in the actions of the figures hidden in the dark of night. Their needy hands roam and grope, taking what they can and relishing in the feel of each other's touch. The blond leans back, adjusting his elbow behind him to help keep him balanced, then holds the red headed figure above tightly by the hip as he thrusts hard into her. She in turn leans forward and bites down on his shoulder, raking her long nails down his back. The blond hisses in response to the fresh pain, but he does not complain. All he can find himself doing is twisting over so that he can hold her with both hands. His face roughly nuzzles into her bruised chest. The marks of their narrow escape from the Hydra mercenaries after them mark both their bodies, but her pale skin makes her wounds stand out more.

A fire of hate builds at the bottom of his stomach as his eyes take them all in. Hate for those men. Hate for her wounds. Hate for the fact that he couldn't protect her. And hate over the fact that she refused to let him... He can't stop himself as his lips crash down over hers, greedily sucking and fighting to stay in place. His tongue works its way in, but as she tenses her fingers over his chest, he pulls away. He knows that was a breech in their agreement. She reminds him with a punch squarely over the long knife wound running from his collar bone down to his arm pit. No words escape their lips though. Only the noises of bodies being satisfied, of being reminded of the life filling their lungs can be expressed. The only communication they will allow right now is the grounding actions of knowing the other is alright and alive.

He licks his lips as he tries to keep his mouth moist, as he tries to ignore the burning sensation begging him to let go, to be released. She's not there yet, and he refuses to let himself finish without her. To help, he reaches his hand down between their joined pelvises and rubs tight circles over her clit with his thumb. She immediately jumps at the sensation, but after a few moments, begins to buck against him even harder.

This time, it's her turn to take control again. She pushes off the bed, making the blond lose his balance and find himself kneeling on the floor. He doesn't fight her physical instructions, knowing what she wants. So, without any more guidance, he leans back and lets her ride his cock at her own pace. He groans in desperation, feeling like his cock is going to burst. The blood pumping in his nether regions throbs painfully, but he can't. She's almost there. He can tell by the flush of her cheeks, and the way she throws her head back. Her mouth stays open, panting lightly as she plays with her own breasts. Her breath hits a hitch, and then she leans forward. She moves her hips in short, quick bursts up and down over his cock. She keeps one hand between them, rubbing two fingers up and down along the sides of her nub. She can see white behind her closed eyes. The sensation of her fingers hitting his cock and her hand moving up and down his pelvis is too much.

A stream of curses floods out of his lips as he angrily bemoans his weakness at not being able to hold off. His seed hits her walls in just the right spot so she in turn falls over the edge right after him. Thus, when she realizes what he's saying, all she can do is smirk down at him, then place a gentle kiss atop his head. She lets her body go lax above him for a minute, but then pulls herself away before speaking. She pushes herself off the floor and heads towards the small washroom in the corner of the abandoned home they decided to take a short haven in. As she starts to close the door behind her, she calls over her shoulder, "You're too sweet sometimes." A small smile graces her lips while she stops in the doorway with a thoughtful look. She sighs then and leans her head forward, messy bangs covering her eyes as the smile is dropped from her lips and the quietly spoken request is dropped: "Stop it."

Pressure builds over Clint's chest as he looks after the door Natasha has just shut herself behind. He can hear some water running into that bucket they used earlier to clean each other’s wounds. Speaking of wounds, he finds his fingers slowly tracing over the cut she had punched just moments before. Some blood seeps down, but it's not much. It was a surface wound to begin with, so it isn't something he's very worried about.

A cold breeze sweeps in from a broken window and makes his already softening cock shrink even more. He lets himself shiver, wanting _her_ warmth to chase the cold away but he knows that could never happen. Not anymore at least... He takes a deep breath, then sits up and reaches for the clothes strewn all over the floor and a small hand towel in his pack. He takes out a water bottle and soaks the towel before wiping down all of his body and clothing himself. As he finishes tying his shows, Natasha comes out. Small drops of water slide down her round hips and down her thighs. Little abrasions and some rather ugly bruises adorn her legs and her waist, but they do not distract from her beauty.

"Toss me my clothes," she commands as she throws her own little towel on a crooked shelf besides her. Clint does as she asks, and watches admiringly as she works her leather one-piece up her body. There is nothing inherently sexual about the way she puts on her clothing but seeing the hidden strength of her legs, her core, her arms... Clint just wishes he could feel every part of her skin, and see her accept the love behind the simple motions. He wants to know her in every way a lover can. He doesn't want their relationship to only be a physical one. Natasha can sense the direction of his thoughts, and does what she must to stop them in their tracks.

"How is Laura coming along? Do you guys know the baby's gender yet?"

Just as she expected, his face sours and guilt coats his body in thick, heavy waves. He chews thoughtfully on his cheek, then tells her that she's doing well. The baby is perfectly healthy, but refuses to let the docs see what's hidden behind tightly shut legs. Nat smiles at that, sitting cross legged as she listens. She always did love Laura. She knew Laura was a sweet woman, and the kind of woman that could make Clint happy. Obviously Clint loves her very much too considering this is their third child they're having. And also considering the soft smile he gets as he thinks fondly of his family safe at home.

 _'I could never give him that,'_ she reminds herself as the unbidden wish that she could be the one to make him smile like that hits her painfully. She swallows thickly as she tries to think of how to continue the conversation without betraying her inner thoughts. She laughs nervously before saying, "Ah, already such a Romanoff! You know if she's a girl, she's going to have to be a Natasha just like her _tetya_." Clint nods, appreciating her input. He wanted her to be part of his life. He wants her to be able to be part of his children's lives. She couldn't be their mother, but he'd be damned if she wasn't at least their unofficial aunt. He really does love Laura. Truly, deeply loves her. But he can never deny that his first love was his partner in crime. The woman who made him question his mission and really wonder if the orders coming his way were right. The woman who reminded him that his conscience also has a say in what he does, not just the orders from atop.

When he met Natasha, he was ordered to kill her. That was their first encounter. Him spying on her as she worked on her next mission: an assassination attempt on a scientist who was planning on betraying Russian secrets to the Americans. He was surprised at the way she worked, and was startled at how warm she was to the young children she would encounter during her mission. She always had a bright smile for them, and would give them small semi-sweet candies. But when she killed the man, she was so harsh. She killed him slowly and painfully, causing a bloody mess but somehow leaving zero trace of her involvement. He did not stop her for from completing her mission as this man was also a pedophile who used children for a number of experiments. That was, in fact, the reason he was around children. Clint could never know how many victims this man had taken, but he knew that because of the Black Widow, he would no longer make any more. He followed her around for a lot longer than he was intended to, and when she confronted him, he did not attack. He only talked to her, and decided he would not kill her. She was not a monster. Was she a cold-blooded killer? Of course. She had to be to be able to survive the life she had. But she was by no means an evil beast who killed for the fun of it, and he knew. And that made his conscious scream in agony after so long of being quiet. She caused a change in him that made him want to repay the favor.

He recruited her. He advocated for her, and convinced both parties that their working together would be much more beneficial than for the Black Widow and SHIELD to be on opposing sides. And to this day, he still had yet to be proven wrong.

Natasha lies back on the floor, staring blankly up at the ceiling as she asks, "Should we just stay here for the night, or do you want to head home already?" As an afterthought, she adds, "I'm sure they already sent a jet for us."

Clint sits on the bed, mulling over his options. Getting back would be nice. Lila said she wanted to show him her art project last time he saw his daughter, and Cooper still hadn't gotten to play that game of catch Clint had promised him. His children need him. But these aren't life-threatening situations. They're moments that he values, but can wait another day. He wants to rest for a bit. Right now, all he wants to do is cuddle and sleep...

 _'But will_ she _want to?'_ Clint wonders as he stared at his own portion of the ceiling. The last time they had done that, that was at Budapest. Budapest was crazy, and filled with intense action and fighting. They were supposed to go in and out, invisible to those around them. But a previous colleague of the Black Widow saw her and recognized her. She was supposed to be dead; no longer an ally to her country. There was a struggle, and then a gun fight broke out. It was Clint and Natasha versus a small army of military hitmen. She thrived on the action, feeling proud at the end to be able to return the favor of life to Clint the way he had done for her just weeks before. That was their first mission together, alone, in an intimate setting...

They didn't mean to get so close. They knew that that was wrong on so many levels, especially considering the line of work they were in. But they got close. The surge of dopamine and serotonin along with a bit too much alcohol one night left them waking up one morning in each other’s arms. They were not disrobed, but they realized that the warmth they received from each other that night was the closest feeling they ever had of home before.

Until he fell in love with Laura, home was in Natasha Romanoff's arms. Home was relaxing and wearing the thinnest layer of clothes so they could feel one another's skin. Home was those brief moments when they both allowed themselves to be vulnerable for the sole intention of being vulnerable to someone you trust. But Natasha saw what was happening, and realized how she was losing her edge the more she let down her walls. She could not let that happen. She saw that Clint wanted this. That he craved the intimacy, the peace. And that was something she thought she could never give him.

_'How can I, when the only times I've even caught a glimpse of that were those few nights in his arms?'_

Natasha believed this was something she could never give him, so she requested to stop working with him. She asked the director to send her on more solo missions. To allow her to prove herself as a comrade to SHIELD rather than just a comrade to Hawkeye. They allowed her to do so, and the more she was pulled away from Clint, the better an asset she became to SHIELD. His heartbreak was palpable to those closest to him, most notably his father-figure Phil Coulson. But upon talking to Natasha, he understood her reasoning for pulling away. And together, they worked out a plan to force him to look for home elsewhere. Natasha didn't think it would hurt as much as it did when he found his home in Laura, but when she met her, she understood perfectly. She herself felt at home just being on the receiving end of that brilliant warm smile. That smile that felt like it was meant for you and you alone. That smile that made it seem like everything was ok in the world as long as she was able to keep smiling like that as long as she lived.

 _'No,'_ Clint realized. He could not snuggle into the red-head's strong arms and lay his head onto her bosom. He could not have one of her legs wrapped around his waist, and one tucked in between his legs. She would not play with his hair as she started to nod off, and they both found peace in the sound of each other's breaths and heartbeats.

All they can have between them now is remnants of a love that almost was, and these battle wounds littering their bodies and their hearts.


End file.
